In Defense of “And Just Like That…”, Part Three: Story and Production Matters
This third entry of thoughts on And Just Like That..., the continuation of Sex and the City, is less of a defense than the previous two. There was plenty to enjoy about the series overall, but it was an uneven experience.
The leap from small to big screen and back again for the Sex and the City team appears to have led to degrees of “rustiness” in terms of how to pace a television series.
In my estimation, structural issues began with the decision to take the best elements of a movie script and build a ten-episode series around them, instead of keeping the main idea and starting from scratch.
It was reported in 2018 that the focal point for Sex and the City 3 would be how Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) moves on after the death of “Mr. Big” (Chris Noth).
According to a few accounts, the script written by Michael Patrick King was the strongest of the film franchise. Since Big’s death was retained for And Just Like That…, and Carrie’s storyline is the most consistent, it seems safe to assume King kept a good deal of what he’d already written.
I also assume character arcs for Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Charlotte (Kristin Davis) would have been much different in Sex and the City 3. Not only would they, and Carrie, be five years younger, but so would their children, who have significant moments in And Just Like That…
The movie script was completed well before four years of dramatic shifts in the cultural climate (see part two), so it stands to reason the new characters in And Just Like That… would not have appeared. At least not with much depth.
Time Waits For No One
The Sex and the City television series always had an unusual relationship with “time.” In the final episode of Season Four, fall is just beginning. Only a month or two has passed plot wise when Season Five begins, but it’s spring.
The use of time in And Just Like That… is even more haphazard. Three months passed in the final 15 seconds of Episode Five, and then in Episode Seven, six months (by my count, not that of the writers) pass in an opening montage.
These “time jumps” probably would have worked perfectly in a feature film. In this series, they only serve one character well, and that’s Carrie. Other narratives suffer.
For example, Charlotte and Harry (Evan Handler) are the last to learn their daughter, Rose, has told everyone at school they are now “Rock.” As a result of the three-months-in-a-split-second edit, Charlotte and Harry go from bewilderment over their child’s identity exploration to full acceptance of the situation. We aren’t shown how they got there!
It’s disappointing that a storyline with such rich potential is given short shrift; especially when, instead, the writers have Charlotte and Harry spend an episode fighting over the merit of saying “I’m sorry” (the nadir of the season).
The time jumps also muck up Miranda’s story. On screen and off, the writing team says Miranda has been waiting three months for the person she’s interested in, Carrie’s podcast boss Che Diaz (Sara Ramirez), to return an Instagram DM.
In order for the timeline of a full year from Big’s death until Carrie releases his ashes in Paris to work, it’s actually closer to six months.
It’s impossible that in six months time (heck, even three months!), Miranda and Che would never have bumped into or even asked about each other, given their proximity to Carrie. It just doesn’t make sense.
The Disappearance of Carrie Bradshaw, the Writer
Carrie Bradshaw’s identity as a writer has always been at the forefront of the Sex and the City franchise. It’s the primary reason I relate to her.
In the first episode of And Just Like That…, Carrie has taken a job as on-air talent for Che’s podcast, but why? What has necessitated her taking this gig? Has her success as a writer stalled? Has someone recommended she learn podcasting as an adjunct to her writing? We’re not told.
When Carrie, the writer, does show up, it’s seven episodes in, and she’s finished a memoir about the loss of her husband. Through a conversation with her publisher, it’s apparent Carrie never lost viability as an author. Even Oprah might be interested in her book!
This turns the idea of Carrie playing “third fiddle” on a podcast into nothing more than a contrivance to set up the final scene of the season. As Episode Ten comes to a close, Carrie is where I expected her to be at the top of Episode One: that she is the host of a podcast which grew out of her column and books.
King has said in interviews that Carrie’s familiar voiceovers as “the writer” are not present in And Just Like That… because “she has no overview.”
Now that she is the solo host of a “call-in with relationship questions” podcast (called “Sex and the City”, natch!), perhaps her overview can return. The podcast can be used in a framework similar to Carrie’s column in the original series.
At least, I hope that’s an aspect of what they do.
“Rambo, Rambo, Wherefore Art Thou, Miranda?”
“Jeez, Miranda, it’s like you’re the guy sometimes.”
Steve Brady (David Eigenberg) said this to Miranda Hobbes in an episode of the original series, way before he was married to her. It’s partially why I don’t fall in line with the “freak out of all freak outs” leveled at the writing team for how they’ve handled Miranda in And Just Like That…
People screamtype, “I can’t believe Miranda is behaving like this!” and think the writers have made unforgivable choices. Someone Tweeted to me, “They had Miranda change virtually everything about herself in such a short period of time.”
I responded, “….and how many television shows have we seen where men have a mid-life crisis, change virtually everything about themselves in a short period of time, and no one bats an eye?”
Miranda was always written as intelligent and full of bravado, but also cynical, withholding, and judgmental. She stuffed her emotions.
In the last season of Sex and the City, Miranda realizes she loves Steve after years of back and forth. Before she can get the words out, Steve tells her he’s seeing someone else. Instead of sharing her feelings anyway, Miranda stuffs them for months and drives herself bananas.
Between the second film and this series, there are 11 years of Miranda and Steve’s marriage we don’t see. According to the narrative in And Just Like That…, Miranda is still stuffing how she feels, only on a more punishing level.
She’s bored, feels stuck in the mundane rituals her relationship with Steve has become, and is so disconnected she doesn’t notice her reliance on alcohol to “get by,” which is a classic sign of avoidance.
Even if it took years, Miranda’s disconnect, avoidance and “stuffing” was eventually going to reach a breaking point. People whittle down the trigger of Miranda finally letting loose to the “finger-bang heard ‘round the world” (from Che, who nicknames Miranda “Rambo” for a reason), but that’s not it. It happens after.
Miranda doesn’t realize Carrie, recovering from hip surgery, has awakened from a nap and can see a mirrored reflection of Che and Miranda, drunk and high, going at it. Carrie has to use the bathroom, but doesn’t yell to get Miranda’s attention. She painfully tries to maneuver peeing into a Snapple bottle instead.
Che leaves, and Carrie finally speaks up, angrily. Miranda goes right to standard denial and avoidance, making light of the situation in order to move on as fast as possible.
As hard as Carrie pushes back on Miranda for not paying attention and a potential drinking problem, Miranda keeps smiling and brushing everything off as “nothing.”
Then, Carrie says, “You are married and you just had sex in my kitchen.”
That is what causes Miranda to drop the act. She has no comeback of denial or escape route for that. Everything Miranda has been pushing down for years explodes. It’s one of Cynthia Nixon’s finest moments across the 20-plus years she’s played the character.
“What am I supposed to say? That I don’t want to be this person anymore? That I want to be something more?! That this isn’t enough?!”
Moments that honest and relatable is why I continue to pay attention and relish any time these creative people give us more stories. Sometimes they’re able to articulate what we can’t on our own, and while my circumstances are different than Miranda’s, I felt every word of that breakthrough.
To me, it makes perfect sense that the writers would take Miranda from years of emotional repression to a state where she is fumbling around emotions she never allowed to surface. She’s gone from “mind” to “heart”, which of course, is going to cause significant changes.
It’s also possible that an aspect of Miranda’s “acting out” is a byproduct of her own mortality in reaction to Big’s death. I don’t know if the writers intended that subtext. All I know is, it “fits,” even if the writers didn’t intend it.
“Old Miranda” is certainly not gone by any stretch. She is still cynical enough to mock Carrie when Carrie thinks Big might be communicating from the afterlife via a reading lamp.
“I hate Miranda for what she’s doing to Steve!”
While they’re “iconic” in terms of the show, Miranda and Steve were never some power team! What’s with the “deification” of them as a couple?
Between the series and the first movie, Miranda pushed Steve away three times! This is now the fourth. I don’t see why her behavior is a huge surprise to anyone. Dialogue Rachna Fruchbom gave Steve during the divorce conversation in Episode Eight was spot on.
My hope is that the writers never climb the “Miranda realizes it’s a mistake to push Steve away” wall again.
I appreciated that Miranda is not suddenly a lesbian. Even she doesn’t know how to define what’s happening. It’s the first time I’ve seen a story in a major television series where a heretofore cisgender heterosexual woman falls for somone non-binary, and I love the complexity!
Willie Garson and Stanford
Willie Garson was supposed to appear as Stanford in all ten episodes and was only well enough to film three before his untimely transition in the fall of 2021. Obviously, completely unexpected.
As filming was already well underway, they had to come up with a reason for Stanford’s absence “on the fly.”
Those who complain “Stanford would never leave that way” or “Stanford deserved a better send-off” or ask, “Why didn’t they just have Stanford die, too?” don’t understand that would have required shutting down production to re-write at a cost of millions.
And Just Like That… is not filmed like a sitcom (i.e., script is written; actors read on Monday, rehearse all week, film on Friday and the episode might air the following week). It’s budgeted and scheduled like a feature film.
In this case, the “feature film” is all the episodes; ten scripts were written and “locked” before any filming began. There would be no significant rewrites to the overall story once shooting starts; there is no time. Any changes on set will generally be no more than a line or word here and there.
Once it was clear Willie would not be able to complete filming, Michael Patrick King wrote a small “goodbye” scene with Carrie to help Stanford exit. Adding this scene was minor enough to have no effect on the budget, the schedule, or the rest of the story.
When King called Willie to ask if he could come film, Willie said, “Don’t think I don’t want to do it. I can’t.” He was too ill.
This left King with little choice in explaining Stanford’s absence. All they could do was move Anthony (Mario Cantone) into the “conversation with Carrie” slot, create a letter from Stanford, and have Anthony explain Stanford is not around because he wants a divorce.
Stanford was a talent rep, so those who complain about him going off to Japan clearly forgot what he did for work.
It isn’t the greatest solution, but they can only do what they can do in this painfully sad circumstance. The writers don’t deserve to be beaten up in this case.
“Carrie! Call 911!”
Despite knowing the “Big dies” plot point since 2018, I wasn’t sure they were still going to kill him off. I’d seen pictures of Noth and Parker filming in a few different locales (some photos were staged).
Once the heightened intercutting between Big on the Peloton and Carrie at the piano recital started, I knew Big was a goner.
I wish his death hadn’t been telegraphed so obviously (in addition to the intercutting, Carrie decides to wear her wedding shoes and Big’s final words to Carrie are a variation of what happens in every version of A Star Is Born), but since I knew the development years ago, I can’t complain too much.
I was not one of the people screaming “Carrie! Girl! Call 911!” at the TV.
It plays as if a split second is stretched out to 30 seconds. Carrie is in shock to find Big on the floor of the spa bathroom. They look at each other and then there is a closeup of Noth acting the life going out of Big’s eyes.
The implication is Carrie sees that. It’s when she screams his name and runs. Although I agree it looks like Big is still alive when Carrie touches him, he isn’t according to that closeup.
Beyond shock, Carrie already knows he’s gone and nothing can be done. That is why she doesn’t call 911. Of course, there is also the fact that this is a television series with a writer who knows the character is going to die no matter what Carrie does.
By the way, this episode features the first and only time Carrie ever refers to him as “Mr. Big” to his face (see the kitchen scene).
Music
The music supervision for Sex and the City has always been exceptional. I have a playlist of close to 200 songs that were either prominently featured or used in the background of the original series. Music plays a lesser role in And Just Like That…, but is just as important. Cues appear at just the right moment to assist an emotional response.
Todd Rundgren’s “Hello It’s Me” is the primary theme of the season. The song has existed, and been a favorite of mine, almost as long as I have been alive. I will never hear it the same way, and I’m not bothered!
I also loved the haunting instrumental of the song used during Carrie’s more emotional moments. I assume the arrangement was done by Aaron Zigman, who composed the scores for the two feature films (several of his cues from the movies are re-used here).
New Friends
I wanted more time with the fantastic Karen Pittman as Nya Wallace in order to be emotionally invested the way I think the writers wanted. That’s part of what’s made the series uneven.
The use of Seema Patel (Sarita Choudhury) was much smoother. The scene where Carrie calls Seema out for insensitivity, and Seema justifiably, but carefully, throws it right back, is one of my favorites.
By the time we see Seema as “the fourth at the table” a few episodes later, it feels earned. Seema is a character in her own right and no “replacement Samantha.” It speaks volumes of Choudhury’s presence as an actress that she can fill that iconic fourth seat without it feeling wrong. She’s a powerhouse. I can’t wait to see more.
Nicole Ari Parker as Lisa Todd Wexley (or “LTW”) is owed more in a second season. She’s a wonderful addition, but felt underused. Her chemistry with Chris Jackson is off the charts, and their interaction while hosting a charity auction in Episode Seven was very funny.
As far as most controversial Che Diaz, Sara Ramirez is striking and passionate in the role. My only issue with Che is that they aren’t particularly funny as a standup, and that isn’t Ramirez’ fault.
Old Friends
Kristin Davis has exceptional comedic turns as Charlotte. Her “mommy” assistance to Carrie during the hospital scene in “Tragically Hip” and rah-rah coaching to successfuly teach daughter Lily how to insert a tampon in “No Strings Attached” are a scream!
Cynthia Nixon had so many terrific moments that sometimes I felt she was the lead! In addition to the “breakthrough” scene referenced earlier, the confrontation of Che at the funeral, dinner with Nya, picnic scene and divorce conversation with Steve all showcased different aspects of her remarkable acting ability.
Irrespective of how rankled a portion of the audience may be over Miranda’s story, Nixon is beyond Emmy worthy.
Part one addressed Samantha’s absence. This series can absolutely survive without the character. I appreciated, though, that they didn’t send Samantha off, never to be heard from or referenced again, by keeping her alive as a “text friend.”
Sarah Jessica Parker’s restrained, stoic choices as Carrie moves through grief were beautiful and moving. I thought the fact that Carrie wasn’t crying very much might come back to bite, but in a “binge rewatch” before completing this essay, Carrie’s emotions bubbled up more than I thought.
Parker’s comic timing, whether it was Carrie drugged up in a hospital, a TMI moment during the podcast, her new neighbor catching her in a crazy “smoking outfit”, or in standard banter with Nixon, Davis and Cantone remains masterful.
Oh….but why oh why was Carrie’s worst breakup not the POST-IT?
LOVEWatching
My favorite episodes include the gutsy, risk-taking “Tragically Hip”, written by Samantha Irby. It’s my understanding Irby shut down her social media accounts because the negativity towards her choices was so intense. I’m saddened for that. Undeserved. After four episodes that were relatively low-key and somber, hers came roaring out of the gate and had me laughing heartily!
Another favorite was the strong and vibrant “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered,” written by Rachna Fruchbom. Fruchbom understands the voices of the characters so well (“Blondie-wich. Writes itself!” was classic Carrie Bradshaw) that this episode felt like it was part of the original series! I loved the levels of past and present, memory and contrast, and the intimate conversations she wrote.
“I’ll Come Around to See You Once In A While”
Twenty-two years ago, I found Sex and the City consistently addressed and reflected issues going on in my own life. Whether it was friendship, relationship issues, fear of commitment, or sex and some of the superficiality surrounding sex, I always found something to relate to.
When Kim Cattrall backed out of the third film, I didn’t think we’d see these characters again unless it was a staged reading of the script. I’m thrilled they found a way to have them come around again for a visit.
One of my closest friends unexpectedly passed away a month before And Just Like That… debuted. The fact that I found myself, once again, with a “way in” to relate to Carrie Bradshaw’s life offered welcome comfort and help with my own process.
I was glad to spend time with Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte again, and happy to meet their new friends, flaws and all. I fully expect the second season will be even better, because they will not be encumbered by a previous concept.
…and just like that, much like Carrie Bradshaw, the writers are free.
